Her lips parted, a protest rising, then fading.
“That doesn’t make you foolish,” Gabe added.“It makes him dangerous.And very, very good at what he does.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.The waitress refilled their cups, humming along to a song about heartbreak and highways.A finance bro at the counter was explaining cryptocurrency to a woman who looked like she’d rather eat the counter.The world went on.
Kate traced a fingertip along the rim of her mug.“You really think that’s all it is?Just another trick?”
“I think it’s more effective than any weapon.He wants you to see him everywhere.To feel his presence in your most private memories.Because if you believe that, you’ll never sleep again.And eventually, you’ll quit.That’s his goal.”
She stared at him.“To make me walk away.”
“Yes.That might not be all he’s planning, but he certainly wants you outside of the Bureau.”
She swallowed.“And it’s working.”
Gabe’s gaze softened.“Then don’t let it.”
“How?”
“By remembering who you are.And by fighting him with his own tools.”
She frowned.“Meaning?”
“You said the Bureau’s planning a sweep in the Bronx.”
She nodded.“Tomorrow.We’ve got reason to think he was heading up there after the murder.But honestly?It feels like a needle-in-a-haystack operation.Hundreds of buildings, miles of footage.That’s if he actuallywasheading to the Bronx.It could have been a false trail.He could have been going to visit his Great-Aunt Wilhelmina.”
“So stop looking for the haystack,” he said.“Start looking for the thread.”
“Translation, please.”
“Where has Cox spent his last coherent period of life?”
“In the Maine prison system,” she said slowly.“Lewiston Federal Penitentiary.”
“Exactly.And what do people do in prison?”
“Plan.Scheme.Recruit.”
"Right.You think he sat there alone, meditating on the Book of Exodus?Not likely.He would've been talking to guards, to other inmates, to anyone who'd listen.Turning them into followers.That's what he does.That's where you'll find your answers, not in a thousand hours of CCTV."
Kate stared at him, a flicker of energy returning to her face.“You think someone inside helped him.”
“He will have found people he could use,” Gabe said.“Every prophet needs apostles.”
She exhaled, the first real breath she’d taken in days.“Jesus, Gabe.You make it sound so simple.”
He smiled.“It never is.But it’s at least a direction.”
She looked at him — the familiar curve of his mouth, the steadiness of his eyes — and felt the strangest mixture of relief and regret.“I’ve missed this,” she said quietly.
“I’m flattered, but what about your partner?”
“You know it’s different.Marcus is my buddy, my rock.But you…” She shrugged.“You’re myrabbi.”
He laughed.“You can call me anytime, Kate.”
“I know.”
